The day Juanito was born, one of the garbage trucks had just arrived and to the 
surprise of the first-time mother, her co-workers found among the frets and old pots,
"El Chulo", he had spotted her since before the cargo was emptied and Luis
"Black hand", he knew he could repair it no matter how broken it was. Actually 
could repair almost anything with the little you find on the site. "Black Hand", as 
all his workmates nicknamed him because of a mole that covered a third of his right
hand, he had a large collection of "Popular Mechanics". Between him and the "Chulo"
they knew how to make that crib beautiful, well, let's say they  left it suitable for use
by a baby, a baby born in a garbage can. For her part, Lucia "Bambina",
the third of this familiar group, arrived immediately with a bed sheet of "Minie"
(that female cartoon mouse) and a small pillow with its cover.
It was six o'clock in the afternoon when at the gates of Isabel's ranch those figures
carrying gifts. Luis, after making his characteristic whistle, proceeded to remove the
can that served as a portal and in a way provided protection to the mother new-born
and child. The floor was made of dirt and the roof was made of pieces of zinc sheet,
the walls were a combination of papier-mâché and chicken wire with mud and straw.
In an old cot that looked like the nest of some little animal more than a bed, Isabel lay 
down with a blanket that covered half her body and exposed her white thigh.
He smoked, despite being advised to quit. Smoked while the child was clinging to the tit. 
Oswaldo "el Chulo" brought him a broken chain with a Saint Raphael medal. He said it 
was gold but everyone knew it was a gold field. "Solid gold," El Chulo said with a serious face,
"Pig gold," Black Hand and Bambina repeated in a low voice in a mocking tone.
Lucia took out a little pink cloth wrapped in old, crumpled wrapping paper. Said that 
blanket was the only memory she had of her mother. Blessed lie, Bambina did not even know 
her mother and what hardly everyone assumed was that she was the daughter of
a Italian.
Black Hand, as he was the most robust, carried on his back the cradle that was not very
big. None of them came of age, but they all looked old, worn out by the sun, the rain and
the daily bustle.
Isabel smiled as she always did, despite the fact that at barely fifteen she had already
had two losses. This one, seven-month-old, looked at least strong in spirit, as if to
endure the fight that life gives to the poor.
Juanito's father, a good-natured man, had taken charge of Isabel since she was nine. 
He said he loved her as his own daughter, until she got pregnant the first time. His last
days were spent drunk, lying on a gnawed armchair, subsisting on what Isabel earned from

selling the cans and cardboard she collected.
An afternoon, Isabel having completed three months of pregnancy, she found him inert,
right there where had left him, with his eyes open and a plastic look as if a membrane
Transparent will cloud your pupils. He was dead, she cried for him because she was left alone.
Since then her three friends from work took care of her and took care of her so that
no one would put it on the ranch. Thus they became the godparents of Juanito and the
godparents of Isabel, united by the sacred sacrament of friendship, a friendship that
strengthened in the middle of the landfill. Juanito was very precocious and he spoke his 
first word at six months. At nine He already stood alone and before the year, he ran rather than
walking. At the age of three he was already journeying with his mother and godparents, at five he

already knew perfectly well where to get the best cartons and bottles, as well as sorting the trash for

your subsequent sale. He also had the ability to memorize in detail colors, logos and the letters on the

packaging and that is why he asked his godparents until exhaustion.
About anything I had doubts about. One day Zas! Isabel realized that the child could read. No one

managed

to understand how that little boy had learned on his own.
Black Hand, who was very jealous of his magazines, was forced, following his own
astonishment, to give him some copies to be able to appease the child's euphoria for the letters.
One day Mano Negra presented himself with a wrinkled, old, stained, and worn copy of the
book "Juan Salvador Gaviota" by Richard Bach. "This is your book, it has your name,"
Luis said.
That was one of the turning points in the little boy's life. He took it and devoured it like
if your eyes were hungry for vowels and consonants, even more so for all those sentences that were

born from the mixture of them. In the first read he could not understand it completely, but was

entertained by the adventures of the main character.
After that, countless questions arose.
–What is a seagull, mom? –The round of questions began.
"It's a bird, Daddy," the mother replied as she crushed the cans to make room for them.
The bag. "I know it's a bird," the boy insisted. But how is? Is it like a Zamuro? *
The mother stared at him because she knew with certainty that if he did not respond to her,
he would not be able to take it off. from above.
-Yes daddy, like a zamuro, but white.
–And they talk? –Asked the boy.
The mother knew herself at the gates of a whirlwind of questions and smiled slightly why not
he had an escape.
–I already told you that animals –Isabel had to think her answer well to avoid crushing
the innocence of the child without being chained in an endless sea of ​​questions–
… yes daddy, They speak, but their own language. We don't understand them.
–But –the boy insisted–… the one who wrote this book, how did he understand what
did Juan Salvador Gaviota say? "Daddy, that's a story," replied the mother, tired of the interrogation.
But nevertheless, after a little pause he changed the tone to a more 
pleasant one as he stopped his gaze at the child's large black pupils. Then he took a 
breath and continued–… I'm sure to study. That's right, he studied it at university.
–What quality! The boy shouted excitedly. I also want to go to college.
"Oh no, Juan Salvador," said the mother in a bored tone. You will not start another
time with the school business. It is very far and you are very small. I have not  time to take you, I have

to work.
- Can you imagine that I learn to speak the language of the animals, I would ask the rats
to no longer go to the ranch, so you do not panic. That's how I keep them at bay -said Juanito 
trying to convince her.
Isabel laughed and then replied: -To keep them at bay I gave you a slingshot, so you 
can kill them with stone. School is a privilege daddy, it's not for everyone.
"No, Isabel," the boy answered, raising his voice. School is a right.
"Don't be raising your voice to me," Isabel scolded him as she gave him a
spanking– I'm your mom and what you just did is a sin. Also where from
did you get that?
"I read it," said the boy with a sad face.
-Where? The mother asked.
"In a little book I found yesterday." A pause and a deep breath made him
preamble to one last question. Mommy, why don't we live in town? Yes, if we lived there
I could go to school.
Mother and son continued their journey until they had their bags well filled, the light
became brighter and dim and the first stars began to be seen. Juanito's days were the 
same than those of the mother, began before the first rays of sun, after a cup of coffee 
and a bread, and ended when the sun radiated its last ray at the end of the day.
However, now Juanito no longer performed the same, he kept thinking how different it
would be her life if she could go to school. Who knows, maybe he could even become a pilot.
"Yes, surely Cabezón," said Chulo. And the mechanic of your plane is going to be this black. 
He picked up a can and thrust it across the back of Black Hand.
"And Bambina is going to be your flight attendant," Black Hand said while bursting into laughter.
At the age of seven Juan Salvador already had his own collection of books and magazines,
accommodated in a small library that Luís built for him with crates and drawers old. In addition,

the infant had begun to write his first texts, as a result of the reading a collection of poems that he

found almost intact in the middle of the garbage. 
"20 Poems of “Love and a Desperate Song ”was read in the title and on the first page written in
blue ink: “To Marina, with all my love. Peter"
–It seems that Marina doesn't like poetry, right? –Juanito said.
"Maybe he didn't like Pedro," Bambina clarified.
"Neither Pedro nor Poetry and let's leave it there," concluded the Pimp.
He was already nine years old and Juan Salvador spoke, read and wrote like an adult, a
adult studied. The godparents had no choice but to intervene with the mother.
Of all the children they had known, if anyone deserved to go to school it was Juan
Savior. "So much gives the drop to the pitcher until it breaks it", then the young and aged
mother agreed to let him go.
-Tomorrow I'll take you. I already contacted the teacher and she told me that if you wanted you
could start going from tomorrow, ”the mother announced.
They gave him a new notebook, a pencil and a pencil sharpener and placed them in a briefcase,
black with rusty clasps. A little white flannel and pants worn on the
knees for the uniform, and for shoes, nothing special, everyday shoes would be
good.
That night Juanito couldn't sleep. He imagined that there would be a great
library and that he could borrow whatever books he wanted. I would also meet others
kids like him, kids who liked to learn, kids who liked books.
That morning Isabel took him out early, they left the ranch, crossed the highway
national and walked close to the shoulder. She never let go of his hand and he liked her
when she held him tight because he felt protected. Came to the school gate and handed it to
the teacher, but before doing so he knelt in such a way that his eyes. They fell short of him.
–Daddy, I can't come looking for you, you have to go back alone. Cross the highway with a lot,
be careful, as I thought you - said the mother as she kissed him on the forehead and threw the
blessing.
Juanito came in and through the wire mesh watched his mother walk away. Inside
there was a large patio with a large tree in the center, here was also a court for
play and many children who like him loved books. There wasn't a big library like
I imagined, but at least each classroom had a little one and the teacher let them read.
It was the happiest morning of her life and at the end of the day when she came back, the teacher kissed

him and also gave him the blessing. Then he walked the shoulder
off the highway and when it was time to cross the highway he looked up at both
sides with eyes wide open to make sure no carts were coming. Did it all as his mother instructed
him and in twenty minutes he was back at the old dump.
He ran to tell his mother how good he had been, but when he entered the ranch in
Instead of his mother, he found the sad gaze of Chulo and Luis and the watery eyes of
Bambina.
Isabel was gone, she had transpired when she was run over by one of the trucks of
The trash. In bad weather he bent down to pick up a package that he dropped while crossing
the street, highway. "I didn't see her," said the driver.

Thus ended the happiest morning of Juanito's saddest day.

At the farewell, at the mortuary rituals of the landfill, Bambina handed him the package
to the mourning little boy. Inside the bag a book, a brand new copy of Juan
Salvador Seagull. The first page read in bad handwriting and blue ink:
                  "Garbage children also have the right to school."

 

*scavenger bird.